


Grappling for Air

by Ray_K



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Car Accident, Coma, Mental Health Issues, Sex Change, Surgery, Symbolism, Transboy, Transgender, Transman, mental struggle, mtf, sex reassignment surgery, transguy, triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6143998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ray_K/pseuds/Ray_K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-Possible Triggers Read the tags for more explanation-</p>
<p>He had been living for a total of 23 years, truly alive for only 12 and finally he was free.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A young man struggles against himself, fighting to breath, fighting to live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grappling for Air

The surgery went well, in simplest terms. No complications, all parties involved were pleased, no one in the family has ever undergone such an invasive procedure. He was recovering, sleepy and on so many pain killers he might as well be in Wonderland. When his family received the call it was a shock, the kind you receive from electrocution or a sharp cut. Callan had been in an accident. Midnight, couldn’t sleep, fast driving on too many pills. In short they could only blame one person. Emily.  
The young man awoke to bright white light, not the kind of blinding summers but the sort you wake to after sleeping for a long time. It was cold, and he could barely raise himself from what he lied upon. Within his head he felt a dull ache, and a sharp pain through his spine when he attempted to move. Looking towards the ceiling he found himself focusing on the small gold coffers within the ceiling. Each embellished and alluring, catching the sunlight that poured through the bright windows at all sides. Once his body gained the strength to sit up he regretted it, the incisions along his chest throbbed, the more he moved the more they threatened to spill out dark blooming morality. He couldn't recall why everything hurt so badly, but he had faint memories of the surgery. How could he forget such a large step closer to his own identity. The important part was that he was alive, Callan was alive.  
A voice caught him by surprise, it was young and painfully feminine in it's high squeaking faintness. He attempted to find the speaker, yet did so painfully. Once able to pin down the location of the speaker he could hardly contain the vomit that was in danger of spilling upon her sight. It had been so long since he was forced to look at her, to see her gangly thin limbs and messy long hair, she was hideous in the simplest terms. “Why are you here?” he questioned, it didn’t come to him until later to ask why he was there, but hind sight is always 20/20.  
She replied in a soft yet stern voice, stepping closer to the man, eyes fixed on his bare skin and bandaged chest. “I've been waiting” her voice came in hard, which didn’t suit the soft femininity of her features “waiting to see you again, waiting to see what you did with that body of yours” her voice was melodic but cold as basement concrete. When the man attempted to stand he was pulled down with heavy gold chains, he hadn’t noticed them originally, the rest of his body felt as though it was in water, floating, but the dreamlike weightlessness didn't seem to apply to his restraints. He tried three more times to stand before resolving to the bonds, and listening to Emily as she spoke, voice dripping with revenge. He wasn’t forced to listen to her since they were both very small, but he supposed Emily has always been small, unimportant, slim. Yet now as she loomed over her prisoner she had a look of power which she reveled in. “What did you do to yourself, its not nice to fool mother nature you prissy little fool.” she basked in her power over her rival.  
Callan scowled, back in their family house, the summer, air warm and pleasant. He craved to push her down the flight of stairs all over again. To see her limp body fall to the unyielding basement floor. To watch the power drain from her face with each breath, he craved that, needed it. Each word that the thin girl spoke became another inch of the knife Callan wanted to drive into her. When Callan finally spoke he was stern “I started the shots after I got rid of you, its been years,” he paused, pushing out his next words “Emily. Its not your body why do you care?” the girl seemed shocked at this development.  
“Isn't my body? I suppose not, it stopped being my body when you chopped off my gorgeou hair, bound my chest with those fabric prisons, started dressing like that.” she growled out her words, like a predatory animal. Callen once again attempted to stand, pulling at the golden shackles that kept him chained to the clean white floor. With every piece of his body he pulled, struggling against the unyielding metal, heart pounding with exertion. Emily watched, angry yet amused by the spectacle before her, the man was getting paler by the second. “It was never yours to begin with.” his words were as much for her as they were for him, he wondered if he really had committed a sin by suffocating her. He remembered the first day, short hair, a baggy shirt and frantic summer heat radiating around them both. Callan was born that day, truly alive once he removed every piece of her, the clothing, her hair, her face erased from his memory. Each time he looked into a mirror he smiled, hardly recognizing the young boy smiling back at him.  
He was pulled from his memory by the sheer pain in his chest, and the utter coldness of the metal against his skin. His breath came in heavy and painful, each step he got closer to the young girl he gained another ounce of strength, his mind going red with heat and power and the anger welling inside him. Despite his hope the girl did not back down, her eyes focused on his, a mirrored color of rich brown, bright and furious. It was a dual, one without rules and without weapons, sheer strength would determine who won. The next moment happened too fast, gold met pale skin, force hit softness. In all of 3 seconds things changed forever and she was bleeding.  
He had been living for a total of 23 years, truly alive for only 12 and finally he was free. Emily's small bones fell as she bled out, life draining from her face all over again, her last breaths wasted on the words, “traitor. Traitor!” a waste Callan could hardly notice. He suddenly struggled to breath, not from labor but as if he was drowning, being swallowed up by the room itself. He stumbled from the sudden heaviness of his limbs, the gold seeming to melt from his skin into the thickness of the room. The walls seemed to close around his body, hugging his form. It seemed the gold from the ceiling now melted down, stifling his breath.  
The first breaths he took on his own were violent, those of a drowning man. The small congregation jumped at the sudden change, praying it would last. Once his eyes were open Callan was met with a soft light, from a warm and cheap hospital lamp and darkness from the windows, it appeared the harsh lights were dimmed for the evening and he was thankful. Trevor clutched on his hand, not as cold as the shackles however just as strong and ruthless. The explanation he received was a whirl wind, he heard some of it, Callan, car, driving, shattered, bleeding, totaled, spinal trauma, paralyzed, coma, three weeks. He spent his time looking over the faces before him. Trevor looked as if he hadn’t slept for days, Amity was holding her purse so tightly she might cut through the leather with her nails. The fear and concern was plastered to them like thick frosting on an exceedingly sweet cake. Once he felt free of the hard engulfing feeling he was able to clearly hear the phrases being spoken to him. “The doctors said you might not make it, because the surgery put more stress on your body.” Amity was soft and motherly in her speech, as not to frighten Callan. “But your medical records have been officially changed, its like your new birthday Callan” Trevor grinned, “No more Emily after the sex reassignment surgery” The survivor smiled, and the three companions relaxed with a soft relief, the war was over.


End file.
